Mission accomplished. I procured a swine flu vaccine, no thanks to Harvard Vanguard. I’m sure it’s not really their fault. But here is what is their fault: misinformation.  The nurse at my ob’s finally — after 15 minutes on the phone during which I implored her to explore some options with me — told me about a clinic being offered to pregnant women today at the Brigham, but then recommended I not get the vaccine there because it was not Thimerisol free. “But the CDC recommends that pregnant women get this vaccine regardless, and says that the vaccines are safe,” I pointed out. “Well, we just don’t know what the effects are,” she said. I pointed out that we also don’t know the effects of Tamiflu on the unborn child. “You’d rather I risk getting swine flu than risk the vaccine?” I asked. “I think you should wait until we receive the Thimerisol free vaccine,” she said. Since Harvard Vanguard apparently has not received any vaccines yet for their high-risk patients — while Wall Street bankers and lawyers are being vaccinated in their offices — you’ll understand why I was no longer prepared to be patient.

Moreover, I think her advice was misinformed and incorrect. I consulted with my cadre of “private physicians” — i.e., three very good doctor-friends whose expertise and medical advice I trust completely. One of them told me that the amount of mercury in the flu vaccine was less than what is in a tuna sandwich. In addition, the concern about preservatives in vaccines stems from a time when there was thought to possibly be a connection between the mercury and autism — something that has not been at all substantiated by research. (For the record, my sister and brother-in-law’s dear nephew is autistic, so this is not something any of us take lightly.)

People can and will have their own opinions on this, and I respect them. Your health decisions are up to you (which is why I am so pro-choice). But I also think this is a scenario in which anxiety and rumors can get and have gotten out of hand. (I’m not immune: I admit I became somewhat all-consumed with my inability to get vaccinated.) In the end, I did my own research: I read the CDC website, and I consulted with other doctors. But, ultimately, I do have faith in Western medicine. A clinic held specifically for pregnant women — at one of the best hospitals in the country, no less — just would not offer a vaccine that would be unsafe. As it turns out, the shot I received this morning was the “low dose” vaccine — completely mercury-free vaccines are not widely available at this time. This particular one had one participle/milligram (whatever the measurement they used was) of preservative as opposed to 20 participles/milligrams.

Anyway, I’m relieved. It only took three or four phone calls a day (to both branches of  my obstetrician’s office, my primary care physician, my pediatrician, various departments of public health), three days a week, for six weeks or so, plus 45 minutes on Tuesday chasing down this flu clinic lead (emailed to me by many people who had read my blog – thank you!), two hours yesterday driving to the Brigham during rush hour so that I could register as a patient in order to attend the clinic, a 45-minute drive in rush hour this morning and a 30 minute wait (I was sixth in line — a bit bummed that I was not actually first, as had been my intent!)

The haircut desperation. (Also, this is just shameless cuteness…)

This made me happy this morning.  It comes on the heels of this article in yesterday’s NYTimes Styles Section about how all the Washington D.C.-schools are lobbying to get the Obama children to attend, and quotes an African-American mother:  

It’s the first time, she said, that she has seen Washington’s power people utterly agog over two black schoolgirls.

“Here are two little girls that everyone is fawning over, and they look like my kid,” Ms. LaRue-McAfee said. “That’s why I’m excited.”

Also, on a crisp Monday morning (when my little girl is in the emergency backup daycare downstairs because our nanny finally succumbed to the cold that ran rampant in our small apartment last week — I just love knowing Little Buggy is in the building), a few other small items of happiness:  the view out my window, a fresh flower in the bud vase my sister so thoughtfully gave me for graduation, and of course, the cozy, red Christmas cup of soy chai heaven.

Massachusetts bar results were mailed today, October 31!

http://www.coasttocoastam.com/timages/page/pumpkin_sim.html

I am editing a document. I have reams of paper in front of me, a pencil — not a pen (this is somehow very important) — in hand. I am making proofreading marks in the margin. I don’t even know how I know to make these proofreading marks. Did I learn them in journalism school? I don’t think so – somehow, I’ve just always known them. And then I realize why: when we were little, our drawing paper had typing on the “back.” Interspersed with the typewriter font were penciled in ^’s and delete marks and triple underscored lower case letters. (We didn’t realize that most kids had pristine fronts and backs of their drawing paper.) And for the first time in a long time, I wish I could call my dad and tell him about being a lawyer — about drafting transitional agreements, crafting transactional representations (“reps”), editing a disclosure statement — all these words, legal phrases, symbols that were an unconscious part of my childhood. A language in which I’m slowly becoming facile. Though I hope never, ever to be part of a “deal,” I’m being introduced to this world of corporate law — a world that was so much his world — and it makes me feel closer to what I remember as that curly-haired, nicotine-tinged, squinty-eyed man who, at the very least, made sure we were never without drawing paper.

I can do bare legs at work, right? At least for a few more weeks? I hate hate hate pantyhose/stockings, and refuse to wear them. I will wear black tights when the weather dictates. But when is that? Now? Oct. 1?

I saw a lot of “girls” walking to work today in black tights and trenchcoats. Fall is perhaps already here…

… I meant to leave as a link — in case all you are desperate for some blog-reading while I’m on hiatus — to Dr. French Fry, written by a witty, eloquent medical student (wonder who that could be?) I particularly direct your attention to the post on the wonders of Pedialyte, whose elixir-like effect I was first introduced to by my friend Melissa, while on a ski vacation in Steamboat. On the way home from a bar one night, she made us detour to the drug store to buy Pedialyte so we would be ready to hit the mountain early the next morning. I dismissed it as a strange remnant from her ski-bum days, but I dutifully drank it.  When I woke up the next morning feeling fine, I attributed my clarity to the fact that I just hadn’t probably drank all that much to begin with (doubtful).

However, I re-remembered her Pedialyte pit-stop before a recent bachelorette weekend. And now I can say with all surety: it’s truly a miracle worker. Between Dr. French Fry’s post –even though she mocks us “normal people” for liking to talk about it so much — and last fall’s Times article on how and when athletes use it, Pedialyte seems to be making a comeback, something all you bar-exam takers should take note of as you drink your little faces off the first week in August.

Someone likes her new bedtime routine. She looks like a little girl…